The snow dissolv'd, no more is seen; <br />The fields and woods, behold! are green; <br />The changing year renews the plain, <br />The rivers know their banks again; <br />The sprightly nymph and naked grace <br />The mazy dance together trace. <br />The changing year's successive plan <br />Proclaims mortality to man. <br />Rough winter's blasts to spring give way, <br />Spring yields to summer's sovereign ray; <br />Then summer sinks in autumn's reign, <br />And winter chills the world again: <br />Her losses soon the moon supplies, <br />But wretched man, when once he lies <br />Where Priam and his sons are laid, <br />Is nought but ashes and a shade. <br />Who knows if Jove, who counts our score, <br />Will toss us in a morning more? <br />What with your friend you nobly share, <br />At least, you rescue from your heir. <br />Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome, <br />When Minos once has fix'd your doom, <br />Or eloquence, or splendid birth, <br />Or virtue, shall restore to earth. <br />Hippolytus, unjustly slain, <br />Diana calls to life in vain; <br />Nor can the might of Theseus rend <br />The chains of hell, that hold his friend.<br /><br />Samuel Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/horace-book-iv-ode-7/
